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It's Called a Tattoo, not a "Touch-U"
It's Called a Tattoo, not a "Touch-U"
So, I had my annual boob and hoo-ha exam yesterday, and as my boob flesh was getting manually manipulated, my doctor pushed my ear forward with his thumb and looked curiously at bad bananas that seemed to sprout instantly. "Hmmm... Is that a banana on your ear or you just happy to see me?"
Now, I love my doctor. He's a funny man for one that is putting his hands on parts of me that are normally reserved for non-laughing entertainment purposes, it's mainly the reason why I go to him. But if I get touched on my new tattoos just one more time... I'm going to pop someone.
I've never had any tats that were overtly noticable before, and honestly, all it takes is letting my hair down and these ones are more or less invisible. But I'm a lazy bitch who doesn't like to constantly maintain a head of thick hair, so I usually keep it tied back. If you're facing me, you can't really see them. But if you're behind me... there they are.
Which is a weird place to be if some stranger is going to randomly touch you. I've had them for a whopping 1 1/2 weeks now, and I've come close to bitch-slapping more than a couple dozen people. I'm very proud of my tats, don't get me wrong, and I want to show them off, but that doesn't mean that it is an open invitation to touch me.
People aren't just touching me, either. They're POKING me. JABBING me in the side of the head, in the tender part of my scalp where I dared to stick these suckers. When you're standing in line at the grocery store, engrossed in a conversation with a Midget about why one package of M&M's is plenty, the JAB JAB JAB of a stranger's inquiring pointed finger is not a welcome one. When you've got to whip around with an irritated expression and be greeted by the wrinkled face of some curious old lady who is not only violating your personal space, but also 2 seconds from offering you her commentary on why inking up your skin is wrong... you know the reaction you're going to give them will not be well received.
"Whatchu do that for?" said Little Old Lady, scrunching up her nose and waving her liverspotted hand in the direction of my ear.
"Why do you care?" I responded.
She huffed at me. "It looks so trashy. I don't know why you young people do that to yourselves..." she offered, and there was supposed to be more, but she was interrupted by the Midget.
"You didn't ask permission!" Midget has hands on her hips and is giving old lady the glare down. "You're not supposed to touch strangers! You didn't ask permission!"
If the thought of tattoos appalled Old Lady, let me tell you, mouthy midgets apparently made and then took the cake from her. Old Lady's mouth hung half open. Midget took me by the hand, looked up and me and nodded triumphantly. Midget had a right to be proud, because the Midget was right.
Some tattoos are really amazing. If you ever get a chance to look at the profiles of the guys who were featured in the blog about my tattoos, you'll see just how beautiful someone's artwork looks on a living canvas. But it's just that: A CANVAS. You don't go into a museum and start touching the paintings on the walls. You don't molest a sculpture (or maybe you do, but it's generally frowned upon). Why the fuck would you think you could just walk up to a tattooed person and begin fondling their artwork? Let me tell you, a painting can't knock you the fuck out. You're better off trying to touch the Mona Lisa than me on a bad night. (Or on a day when the Midget is not in tow.)
You wanna ask to see them better? Fine. I'll hold my ear open so that you can get a better look. If you ask permission, I might even let you stroke the skin, granted that it's just a cursory stroke and that I actually like you. Knowing the friends that I do, people who are covered with far more ink than I am, I would recommend the same procedure for anyone else you encounter that is tatted. Ask permission. Complimenting the work will also help. Most people with tattoos are extremely proud of them and willing to talk to you about where they were done and by who.
I just love those unsolicited ink magnets who decide to talk shit to me about my tats. There is noone better on this planet who can give me a verbal beat-down than my own mother, and trust me, she's already gone more than a few rounds with me about this issue. Nothing you say will deter me from loving my artwork or wanting to get more. If you really want to give it a shot, go ahead. Just don't look so surprised when I swing right back. I find this most commonly happening amongst old people. They first think that they have the right to touch anyone they want and then that they can say anything they want just because they're old. A little revelation for all of you? Someone that was an asshat at 25 is going to be an asshat at 75. Just because you're feeble doesn't mean that I automatically have to be nice to you. And most certainly not if you're going to talk shit to my face. That's open season, regardless of age.
Especially if you approach me from a bad banana's side. That fucker is ruthless.